


Homecoming

by maebyrutherford (maeberutherford)



Series: The Right Hand [13]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Forgiveness, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 20:31:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5679751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maeberutherford/pseuds/maebyrutherford
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of The Right Hand series: After the Inquisitor breaks his heart, Cullen tries to move on by serving as Cassandra’s Right Hand, and reconnects with a childhood friend.</p><p>A Skyhold reunion begins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homecoming

A handful of soldiers whom Cullen didn’t recognize greeted them under the portcullis and proceeded to bring in their horses and belongings. It was disorienting, not seeing a familiar face in a place he had once called home, a place where these same people would have once been working for him. He wondered if Rylen had committed to memory their forenames and surnames, where they were from, what their strengths and weaknesses were in battle, which ones required more guidance and which ones needed minimal training. Did he miss being the head of an army? He wasn’t sure.

He helped Sylvie dismount her horse and had the keen sensation of being watched. He turned around to see a visibly nervous soldier staring at him.

“Was there something you needed?” Cullen asked, removing his leather gloves and tucking them into the interior pocket of his cloak.

“My sincere apologies, ser,” he stammered. “You were once the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces, yes?”

Cullen lowered his chin in acknowledgement. The lad was Fereldan, judging from the accent. “Indeed.”

The man stepped forward. “May I say, Ser Cullen, it’s an absolute honor to meet you. You’re a legend around here – everywhere in Thedas, really. I regret not having the privilege of serving under your command.”

Cullen raised a brow. “Does your current Commander leave that much to be desired, then?”

The poor soldier’s eyes went wide and his lips flapped as he rushed to explain. “Nuh-no! That’s not what I meant at all! Commander Rylen is an excellent leader, I just – I just meant –”

Cullen set a hand on the man’s shoulder, giving him a small smile. “That was a jest, calm yourself. What’s your name, soldier?”

A relief of air escaped the man’s lungs. “Sullivan, ser. Private Sully Sullivan, at your service.” He crossed his arm over his chest and thumped his fist over his heart.

Sully Sullivan? Poor lad. Cullen wondered if his parents had been dull or cruel. “Private Sullivan, I am certain if you’d served under my command, I’d have been proud to call you one of mine.”

The private beamed and bowed slightly, still holding his fist over his heart, before rushing to help the others with the carriage. Cullen turned to Sylvie, who was watching him with a strange, but not unpleasant, look on her face.

“What?” he asked.

She was about to respond when he heard a familiar accented voice behind him.

“Cullen! Varric!”

Leliana glided toward them, beaming, the hood she always wore pulled down for a change, her red hair shining in the sun. And not far behind her was Commander Rylen, walking with his usual swagger.

Varric embraced the Spymaster while Cullen and Rylen shook hands and clapped each other on the shoulders.

“Well well, look what the cat dragged in,” Rylen drawled in his Starkhaven lilt.

“Tread carefully, friend. You’re talking to the Right Hand of the Divine,” Cullen joked as he released Rylen’s hand from his grip.

“In that case, may the Maker strike me where I stand,” Rylen replied, smiling without showing his teeth. Cullen wasn’t sure he’d ever seen him smile before.

“I hate to leave this little reunion, but my bladder’s likely to burst,” Varric announced, eliciting a disgusted noise from Leliana.

“Sorry Nightingale, we’ll catch up later!” he called out as he trotted off, his assistant scurrying behind.

Cullen turned to Leliana and held out his arms, but she hesitated.  She clasped her hands under her chin, her steel gaze warming over him.

“Just let me look at you. My, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” She relented and wrapped her arms around his waist, and he returned the gesture. “Thank you for coming,” she whispered near his ear. He tightened his hold in response.

“You’ve put on weight,” she chirped as they let go of each other. “That’s good; you were too thin the last time we saw each other.”

“When was that? Oh right, the meetings.” Cullen recalled how close the chantry had come to being forced into calling an Exalted Council to determine the fate of the Inquisition, about a year after he’d stepped down as Commander. Representatives from Orlais and Ferelden had been hounding Cassandra for months with concerns about overstepped boundaries and unchecked power within the organization. Thanks to her influence and Leliana and Josephine’s tireless efforts over many arduous talks, they managed to appease the two countries and avoid any further action. It had been a stressful year all around for him, after Tara and adjusting to his new appointment, and his eating habits had suffered.

Leliana gestured past Cullen. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your lovely guest?”

Cullen pivoted to see Sylvie standing just behind him, twisting her fingers.

“Of course!” he blurted, feeling ashamed. He retreated and touched his fingers to the small of her back. “Forgive me – allow me to introduce my guest, Sylvie Forester. Sylvie, this is the Inquisition’s Spymaster Leliana, and Commander Rylen.”

The three of them exchanged greetings, and Rylen let his lips linger a bit too long on the back of her hand, stared a little too intensely into her eyes.

“A pleasure, my lady,” he rumbled. Sylvie blushed. Cullen frowned.

Leliana sidled up to Sylvie. “You must be terribly exhausted from the journey. Would you like me to show you to your quarters? I can also have a hot bath drawn, if you’d like, and crudites sent up if you’re hungry.”

Sylvie visibly swayed with relief. “Yes – to all of it. Thank you, ” She looked to Cullen. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Of course not. You should rest, I’ll check in later.” He gave her a reassuring smile.

Leliana gracefully nudged Sylvie. “Our former Commander is entirely too antsy from the journey to retire to his room just yet, hmm? He hasn’t changed one bit.” She winked at Cullen before linking her arm through Sylvie’s. “Come, dear Sylvie, we can get to know each other on the way.”

As they passed Cullen, Leliana gave him a somber look. “I will find you later, there is much to discuss.”

He nodded, and Sylvie was swept away toward the steps to the main hall, Leliana chatting her up all the while as if they were old girlfriends reunited. When Sylvie peered back at him over her shoulder, he waved meekly. To his growing consternation, Rylen also waved.

“Lovely woman,” the Commander said, his voice a little too husky. A change of subject was in order, and a knot twisted in Cullen’s gut when he realized what it needed to be.

“The Inquisitor, where...how, is she?” Cullen asked.

Rylen exhaled through his nose. “In her quarters, as far as I know. Most likely asleep. She has good and bad days.” He cocked his head. “You must be famished. Cook just made a fresh batch of meat pies for the visitors.” He gestured toward Herald’s Rest. “Shall we dine?”

“Certainly, as long as you’re buying.”

***

Rylen updated him on the state of the Inquisition’s forces, even though there wasn’t much to tell. It suited the Commander just fine, since he was never one to talk much. Troops no longer occupied any of the keeps in Orlais or Ferelden, a condition of the talks. There were no more battles to wage, just the occasional escorted supply run, fetch mission or protection detail for wealthy Inquisition sponsors. Their forces had been reduced to a third of what it had been under Cullen’s command; neither their coffers or demand could support any more.

As the former templars conversed about all of the departed Inquisition members, Cullen realized what had been plaguing him with a sense of unease since he’d arrived. It was the quiet. The grounds were practically desolate compared to the state it had been in during the Inquisition’s peak, when it had been so full most of his army were quartered in the valley below. The downsizing made sense. With fewer troops and members came fewer servants, merchants and general staff, and according to Tara’s letter the Inquisition would soon be no more. Even if she expected to survive, it was plain to everyone that they had outlived their purpose.

“Have you heard from Ser Barris?” Cullen asked, sipping his beer and licking the froth from his upper lip. It was good, better than he remembered. Or perhaps it was nostalgia.

“Aye,” Rylen said, setting his mug on the table. “He’s doing right well. Still serving at the new College of Magi in Ferelden. Married a lass this past spring. ”

"Good for him. He deserves happiness, after all he's been through.”

"True. Same could be said for many," Rylen muttered, eyeing Cullen pointedly over the rim of his tankard.

Cabot approached their table carrying a steaming tray of turnovers and plunked it on the table. He was glad to see the crotchety dwarf remained at his post, though not surprised in the least.

“Thank you Cabot,” Cullen said. “Nice to see you again. Are you well?”

“Thoroughly,” Cabot replied, and then returned to the bar.

Rylen pursed his tattooed lip. “He’s become even more dour since you left, if you can believe it. I think he misses you.”

Cullen let out a short laugh as he took a pie from the plate, eyeing the dwarf. “He has a peculiar way of showing it.”

Cullen’s stomach growled and he tore into a meat pie with zeal, while Rylen did the same. It was entirely too hot and utterly delicious.

Now that there was a lull in the conversation, he again marveled at how barren this place was. Other than the two of them, Cabot and a lone patron sitting in the corner, stealing glances his way and trying not to be obvious about it, the place was devoid of life. No one sang or played the lute, and the ghosts of Maryden’s tavern songs began to run through his head, even the ones he didn’t like. It was inevitable, this emptiness, but sad just the same.

The ceiling creaked loudly just over his head, making him start in his chair, then all was quiet. He continued to eat when he heard another creak, softer this time. Must be another patron upstairs. Cullen returned his attention to the last bite of pie in his hands.

_Whack!_

Something slammed straight down into his wooden tankard, causing the beer inside to leap up and out all over the table. A single arrow was lodged in the center of the mug, driven all the way through the bottom and into the table, the quiver still vibrating from the impact.

Cullen and Rylen jumped to their feet and grabbed the hilts of their swords while the sound of cackling laughter filled the tavern.

Cullen relaxed and smirked, despite the scare. “It’s good to see you too, Sera.” he called out.

The elf sailed over the railing and landed light on her feet in front of Cullen, tossed down her bow and threw her arms around his neck. He chuckled and patted her back.

“Nice shot,” he said as she pulled away. She bounded backward and gave him a toothy grin. Her straw-colored hair had grown longer, touching her freckled shoulders, and still appeared to have been cut with a dull knife in the dark.

“Yeah? Thanks.” She chewed on her pouty bottom lip and appraised him. “You look...different. Calmer. Healthy. This new armor, it’s nice, more leathery, less shiny. Kind of miss the ratty floof, though.”

“You might be the only one, although it _was_ warm,” he replied, and then looked at Rylen, who’d been suspiciously quiet. “You conspired with her, didn’t you?”

The Commander held up his hands. “I didn’t know she was going to do _that._ All she said was she wanted to surprise you.”

“I got here yesterday,” she declared. “Was doing some Jenny business not far from here, and I got word from one of Red’s people… and.... ” she trailed off, fidgeting furiously and looking at her feet. And then, unexpectedly, she hugged Cullen again, softer this time.

“I’ve… got some work to tend to,” Rylen said, grabbing another pie and moving toward the door. 

Cullen let his arms fall around Sera. He’d just had more physical contact with her in the last minute than he did during his entire time with the Inquisition. She felt so small, so fragile. She sobbed, but only once, then pulled back. It was then Cullen realized her eyes had been bloodshot the whole time.

“Sorry,” she said, wiping her large blue eyes and trying to shrug it off. “So, this is weird for you, yeah? New lady, old lady, same place. Pretty, by the way.”

He wasn’t at all surprised that she’d been spying on them. “A little, yes,” he admitted. “This entire business is… quite weird.”

She snorted. “I know, right?” She yanked the arrow out of the table with astonishing strength and flipped a few coins on the table.

“For the mug and the mess. Worth it! Welcome home, Cully-Wully.” She picked up her bow, snatched up a turnover and wedged it between her teeth, patted him on the head and trotted out the door.

Cullen looked around at the spilt beer and ruined mug and shook his head, but he couldn’t stop his grin at hearing that old term of endearment.

“Allow me,” Cabot drawled from behind him, and proceeded to clean up the mess. Just as Cullen was about to offer help, he heard voices outside.

“... not _supposed_ to!” Sera’s voice, arguing, and then another voice, quieter, but he knew exactly who it was.

He walked out of Herald’s Rest into the afternoon sun, and prepared himself for the unknown.

“Cullen, you’re here!”

The first thing he noticed as he approached was her clothing. Instead of her usual second-skin leathers, Tara donned a loose linen gown topped with a heavy woolen cloak that grazed her calves. And in place of stylish leather boots that laced to her knees, she wore squat, clunky boots made of animal fur.

She must have noticed him looking at them, because she lifted up a foot. “Do you like them? A gift from Thane Sun-Hair. I wear them a lot these days. I’m sorry for not being more presentable, I’m sure you can understand.” She smiled wanly and smoothed her loose hair with her right hand. 

Cullen stepped closer, not wanting to stare at her mark but his eyes flicked to it anyway. She wore gloves, the thin sort one only wore indoors. Her left arm remained close to her body as she moved.

“Those are… a very fine gift,” he said, not knowing what else would be appropriate.

Sera threw up her arms, still brandishing the bow. “Who gives a shit about _shoes_? She’s supposed to stay in bed today. I heard them say it!”  The elf’s voice rose. “Tell her to go back to bed!”

Tara rolled her eyes. “Oh stop it Sera, I’m fine! I just wanted to get some fresh air and greet my old friend. And since when do you follow the rules, anyway?”

Now that he was near, he could see the changes. Her formerly pale peach skin held a greyish tint under the light dusting of rouge over pronounced cheekbones. Her eyes, amber just like his, once so full of fire and life, had become dull and surrounded by dark circles. She appeared as if she hadn’t slept in weeks. Cullen wondered if that’s how he’d looked during the worst of his withdrawals, when his nightmares were relentless in preventing any semblance of rest. He now understood why people had looked at him with such pity and concern.

He also understood what a person looked like when they were hiding a tremendous amount of pain.

“Tara,” he said, reaching for her unaffected arm, “you should return to your room. I’ll walk you.”

For a moment, her old spirit returned in a blaze of stubborn fury. “Damnit, not you too! Cullen, you have _no_ idea what it’s like, being being treated like an invalid. I honestly don’t know what’s worse, this excruciating pain or being coddled like a child!  I’m the Inquisitor, for fuck’s sake, I can leave my room if I bloody well please!” Her legs began to wobble.

He went to grasp her right arm but she pulled away, stumbling over in the process. Cullen caught her around her midriff before she fell.

“Oh fuck it all!” Tara cried. Sera buzzed nervously around them.

“It’s all right,” Cullen said calmly, supporting Tara under her good arm. “Why don’t we go back to your room, and we can talk?”

Dull caramel eyes looked up at him, hopeful. “You’ll...you’ll stay?”

Cullen tried his best to smile reassuringly. “Of course. You can rattle off all the ways people fuss over you, and how much you hate them. Or tell me which healer annoys you the most. Currently.”

Tara chuckled, but it was cut off. He could feel her whole body tense up. “You know me too well,” she said quietly, sadly. “Too well.”

***

“Here we are,” Cullen leaned over the bed and handed her the cup of tea. The water was no longer hot, but still warm enough to be of some comfort.

She took it gratefully and sipped. “Mm, thank you.”

The silence that followed was loaded with unspoken questions, thoughts, concerns. Muscle memory took him across the room to the desk, where he pulled out the chair and placed it near the bed. He sat and leaned forward, watching her drink with an unsteady hand. She looked almost like an afterthought in the enormous bed, nestled among the cacophony of blankets and furs and pillows.

“Would you like to see it?” Tara asked, her eyes not leaving the teacup.

Cullen wrung his hands, leaning his elbows on his knees. It felt morbid to say yes, but his curiosity got the better of him.

“If it’s not painful.”

She set the teacup down on the bedside table and proceeded to remove her gloves, starting with the right, then the left. His breath caught in his throat when he saw it. The sickly green hue of the mark had completely engulfed her hand, spreading over it like a perverse spider’s web.

He stood - it seemed disrespectful to remain seated - and she gingerly rolled up her sleeve. The infection continued from her hand up, up, the veins of the mark growing thicker, dull green framed by black and purple, all the way up to her shoulder and beyond, from what he could tell. The corruption ran deep into her flesh, it was obvious, and the finality of the situation sunk all the way in.

“Maker's breath,” he rasped.

She glanced up at him before pulling her sleeve down. “It goes on like that across my chest and back,” she explained dispassionately. “Some days are manageable, and some, like today, are… difficult.” She sighed, looking away. “I don’t think I have much time. And neither does anyone else.”

He sank slowly onto the bed beside her. “Are they giving you anything, for the pain?”

She nodded. “Herbs, spells, tinctures. I shudder to think what this would feel like without it.”

Cullen found it hard to speak, to swallow. “Tara, I’m so sorry. If there’s anything I can do, you have only to ask.”

“No,” she whispered, still avoiding his gaze. “I’m the one who’s sorry. For everything. Too bad it took certain death for me to truly realize it.”

His hand reached out for her good one and grasped it, as tightly as he dared. She didn’t ask for this power, this unnatural responsibility, and she certainly didn’t deserve to be taken down by it, slowly and painfully. She finally brought her eyes up to meet his, and all the shit they had been through together, the good and the bad, it all crystallized into the distant past, memories of two people stumbling through a love that wasn’t meant to be and forging who they were in the present. They were friends once, they could be again.

They smiled at each other through their tears, and he knew that if by some miracle she were to survive this, they would be all right.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm starting an intense two month learning program next week, so I'm not sure how much energy or time I'll have to write. Thanks so much for reading this series, I truly appreciate it, and as always I'm open to ideas (and I fully plan on finishing it).


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